I dropped my head in a single nod. “Glad to be back.”
Butala took a seat beside me and rested my file over his lap.
“First and foremost, I want to apologize again for putting you in an improper position with Oscar,” Lynch said, his tone soft and sincere. “If I’d known, I would have never allowed it. Can we put that in the past and start over?”
“Yes, sir.”
Relief flashed in his eyes, but only for a moment. “Very good. Now that is out of the way, today marks the new school year, and we have already had a few mishaps over the last week. Though you didn’t advise me about your brother, can I count on you now to come to me if anything seems out of the ordinary?” Lynch asked, brow raised. “All I ask from this point forward is open communication.”
Though I understood each word he said, his voice came in and out as if my head was submerged underwater. Hoping it would clear the fog in my eardrums, I shook my head. “What happened?”
Lynch’s eyes darted from Butala then back to me. He drew in a breath, rolled his chair forward, and propped his elbows over the desk. “You’ll hear about it anyway so you may as well hear it from me,” he folded his arms, “It didn’t start until early last week, so it’s hard to say who is doing this, but there have been vulgar pranks. Now, I know it may be too much to ask, but you’re the only person I know that isn’t behind it, so I’m asking if you can keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Vulgar pranks? What happened exactly?”
“Cat mutilation found in a student’s dorm early last week. Then just yesterday there was a target sign written in blood outside a door,” Lynch said with distaste in his mouth. “Now I’m not asking for you to get involved, Oliver. I only need you to let me know if you hear or see anything.”
My stomach jumped.
I tried to swallow it back down.
“Absolutely.” I had a hard time focusing, my body slowly defied me, and I ran my zip-tied hand up my forehead and through my hair.
“Good, now let’s talk about your treatment plan,” he said, nodding approval to Butala.
Butala opened my file as I processed the pranks and why it was so hot in here.
“When was the last time you took medication?” Butala asked.
“Over three days now.”
“How do you feel right now, Oliver?”
“Sick…”
“Turn around, let me see you.”
Pivoting my chair, Butala took the stethoscope from around his neck. He brought one end to his ears and the other under my shirt against my chest. It was cold to the touch, and the room fell silent as he stared at his watch.
“Heart rate is abnormally high,” he glanced up, and our eyes met, “Pupils are dilated,” he turned to Lynch, “He’s already experiencing the beginning stages of withdrawal.”
Ha. Withdrawal. Such a simple word for the turmoil thrashing around within, eating away at the dead parts of me, only exposing the remanence of regret and guilt. Perspiration rolled down my hairline like ice against my hot flesh.
“Get it under control, I don’t want a repeat like the last time,” Lynch stated.
Butala turned back to face me. “Oliver, other than sickness, what else do you feel? Angry, sad, happy?”
My knee bounced again, and I stretched out my leg. “Nothing. I don’t feel anything, just this sickness.”
“We can restart his treatment today, but with already three days of skipped dosages, it could take a few days for it to take effect. You could keep him in solitary until the medication kicks back in, but I don’t recommend it. Keeping him confined may extend the recovery time.”
“What do you recommend?” Lynch asked Butala.
Butala sat back in his chair, studying me like a science project. “Get him set up in his new dorm and have him start his new schedule in a week or so.”
“Very well,” Lynch sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Oliver, please don’t make me regret this. It wouldn’t be a good start to the year.”
While the security guard escorted me to the nurse’s station, I kept my head down. A few times up the stairs, I lost my balance and quickly fought to regain it. Having both my wrists bound didn’t help.
